Vocem Mortis
by Master Jesse
Summary: .:Trio:. He sees it all. He can't help but watch as he loses his detective.
1. Part 1

Disclaimer: Do not own.

Title: Vocem Mortis

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Part I

It didn't take long once people saw him to touch him, like he wasn't real. It didn't make sense, but he supposed it was better than the screaming he'd received earlier in his so-called life. "To be or not to be?" He tuned out the voice, they were a moron anyway. Someone else spoke up. "Alas poor Yorik." He would have smiled if he could for once someone had gotten it correct. "Whatever." He was dropped back onto the shelf and was alone again. He watched as people came and went. Another hand grasped him. "Romeo! Romeo! Where for art thou Romeo?" He gagged. If he could, that is. A giggle came from someone he couldn't see. All of a sudden he was falling. The tile floor hurt. Well… he imagined that it did. He didn't like it on the cold floor. He liked his shelf. He could see everything from his shelf. He heard footsteps and felt something hit him in the back and he slid along the floor. A scream came soon after when he was finally discovered. He didn't miss that noise. Footsteps quickly left him. The lights went out and he sat in the dark, cold and alone. The next morning he felt something lifting him. "Interesting." He felt his jaw drop. He couldn't believe someone found him interesting. His jaw was reattached and he looked at this creature that found him interesting. A mop of curly hair. Sharp eyes were looking him over, dissecting every one of his curves. He instantly preferred his discoverer to his shelf. He was slid into a bag and again he wanted to smile. He wasn't cold any longer.

He sat on another shelf, but this was different. He was regarded with intrigue at first. But that quickly turned to familiarity. They had many conversations. The boy talked about the oddest things, but he made sure to always reply. Sometimes his words were ignored, other times the voice would stop and stare at him. In those moments, he could have sworn he had finally been heard. "You're right. It's ridiculous." He watched with what he wished was a fond expression as the boy started pacing back and forth occasionally tossing out words and phrases. The boy suddenly stopped and he could feel fingers grasp him. "That's it!" He was picked up and spun around before being placed back on his shelf. "So obvious." With that the boy disappeared.

Time passed and he found himself searching for a new adjective to describe his boy, for he no longer was one. He didn't like man. It didn't feel right. The man looked at him. No. Just wrong. He continued to watch his boy. Until he thought of something different he was going to continue to call him that. Everything around him was being put away in boxes. There was nothing next to him on his shelf he realized. How long had he been list in thought? The boxes were slowly disappearing. He hadn't been moved. He couldn't even remember if anyone, for it had not been his boy moving the boxes, had even looked at him. The room was empty. It was starting to get cold. He didn't like this cold. It was worse than the cold of the floor. He hadn't known warmth. He didn't know what truly being acknowledged felt like. He could feel a phantom frown and wondered if this feeling would call for tears he didn't have.

Darkness started to fall and the cold stabbed at him. "Idiots. They can't even follow a simple instruction." That voice! He tried looking around but saw nothing. He must have been hearing things. "I am sorry." He felt his boys fingers on him and the warmth was back. "They must have left you on purpose. You cannot hide." He saw the smile on his boys face and wished he could mirror the joy. He always loved the rare smiles he saw. He slid into the warmth of the long jacket. He could feel the faint thumping of his boy's heart as he rested between strong arm and steady chest. He sat perched on a bouncing knee while they rode through the dark. The warmth he felt had fully refilled him and there was excitement. He was curious as to where they were going. The beating was back and he let it fill him.

He was placed on another shelf but he could see everything from his spot. He realized after some time it was not a shelf but a mantel. He was on a mantel. He couldn't place why but that thought pleased him. Maybe it was because everyone would see him too. He saw his boy, he really needed to think of a better word, collapse onto the sofa across the way. He was mumbling to himself, but no real phrases could be deciphered. Satisfied that he was not needed for discussion he set to figuring out what to call his boy. He had overheard many a phone call, and the rantings of his boy were always full of some information about himself. He knew he helped kill people. No. That was wrong. Helped people who had been killed. He always called himself something. What was it? Consultant! He ran that through. His consultant. That wasn't right either. His detective. He tried. His detective. He liked that. His detective rolled over on the couch and started talking louder. He listened and replied when there was a pause. It didn't take long before his detective was eagerly sitting up with that spark he'd seen so many times. He was near a solution. He stood suddenly. A gasp of surprise escaped his mouth. "Could that be it?" He urged his detective on. It was. You are right. Follow that thought. Go on. "Of course." He could have raced after his detective. He glanced around the room and the boxes filling it before settling in, as much as he could. He liked it here.

Weeks passed and one day he was turned around. The wall didn't reveal anything to him. He could tell something was happening in the room. He didn't like this. He wanted nothing more than to turn around. He sat staring at the wall for what felt like forever. Until thin fingers turned him back to the room. He looked up at his detective. There was something far off in the way he looked. He seemed different. He didn't like it. This odd movement. Then the strange expression. His detective was making him worry. It started happening more often. He'd be moved then that vacant expression would cover his detective's face.

One day he wasn't moved. He watched in horror as his detective set about destroying himself. That face was there once again then his detective noticed he had forgotten and that his secret had been discovered. It didn't take much more time before someone else discovered. He could see the small similarities between the man and his detective. His detective was yelling. Harsh mean words. Words he'd never heard before. Words he had never imagined his detective would say. The man, this time it felt right using that word, stood unmoved. He held his umbrella in both hands and only started talking after his detective had stopped. "You will do this." His detective started yelling again. He wished someone would turn him around so he wouldn't have to watch how the anger raising off his detective distorted his face, but there he sat watching the man take the verbal barrage without showing anything. They finally left. He knew he wouldn't see his detective for sometime, but the cold did not come. He was glad for this absence. He knew he would have his boy, his detective, back when they returned.

More time passed and the conversations started up again. He was glad. The odd words comforted him. Things were going back to normal. He heard the door open and two sets of feet walked in. He eyed the intruder as they looked around the room. He looked to his detective. Something was wrong. His detective was watching the intruder closely. Watching him as he glanced around the room. LEAVE! He tried calling. He looked pleadingly at his detective. He paused. The words felt wrong again. They left and the cold returned harsher than it ever had before.

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A/N: This is part 1 of 3. I was loosely inspired by... a fic I read. I, like a fool, forgot to favorite it even though it was amazing! i am going to find it and update this note. Please let me know what you think. :D


	2. Part 2

Title: Vocem Mortis

Disclaimer: Do not own.

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Part II

He hated the doctor. He watched the pair as they laughed and hated him. The doctor mumbled something and his detective chuckled. He ignored the nagging feeling that the detective was no longer his. It had taken him a long time to decide what to call this intruder. In fact at first that was all that he had called him. The intruder. Eventually the name no longer applied. His detective seemed to welcome the intruder's presence. He had thought long on what to call the intruder after that. He had thought cruel things, but with the excitement he could clearly see in his detective… he just couldn't find it in himself to be cruel. The tea-pot had been a short lived name. He was always making tea. But every time he thought about his detective talking to The Tea-Pot it made him think that he was taking to the actual tea pot and that bothered him more than anything. So he had finally settled on the doctor.

Sometimes the doctor would leave, but his detective would continue talking. It was in those moments that he felt the warmth that had left him so long ago spread through him. He would reply as he always did and on occasion the detective would realize his doctor was gone and would truly talk to him again. He went cold at the slip of phrase. His doctor. His doctor? The doctor belonged to his detective. The doctor was his. He rambled on about how it meant nothing. But he couldn't convince himself that it hadn't.

They sat watching television. It had been busy lately. Everyone coming and going. Something big was happening. The doctor left and he had a bad feeling. He tried warning his detective, but he never heard. He left soon after and the terrible feeling grew. He had this worry that the doctor would not be returning. He knew that it would crush his detective. He would have to watch. He wished and wished for something to keep this from coming true. Hours and hours passed. He watched the clock. Every fifteen minutes he wished again. The doctor and his detective walked through the door. He was sure he would have broken if he could have smiled as broadly as he felt he should.

There was something different now. He caught his detective watching the doctor more and more often. A frown would crease his brow when the doctor left the room. He noticed the doctor made tea more than he had before. His detective sat on the couch fiddling with his violin for hours while the doctor sat at his computer. Some days they never spoke, but he could tell something was happening. The detective was out, had been for a few hours. The doctor sat on the couch and read the paper, it didn't take long, it never did, he fell asleep. The paper slid to the floor as he melted into the couch and over the armrest. His detective came home a few hours later. He watched the doctor sleep and something worrying crossed his face. He barked out something and flopped onto the couch. His head landed perfectly in the doctor's lap. A terrified expression crossed the doctor's face before he realized what was happening. He watched as the doctor gave up trying to remove his detective and just accepted the weight. He picked up the paper and started reading as his detective stared at the ceiling, working something out. This happened once more that week. And thrice the next.

He was horrified when the doctor sat in his chair and his detective rolled over on the couch. He knew what was coming. They started bickering. He had yet to truly believe they were fighting. Every argument always ended up the same now. This one seemed different. The doctor seemed comfortable in his spot and didn't want to move. He could have smiled. His detective was finally not going to get his way. After a few more words the doctor adjusted his paper harshly and ignored the rest of his detective's rambling. He watched while his detective stared at the doctor. His eyes were flitting between the doctor's hands and his lap. He looked down at the couch, as if it was the one that was barring the doctor from joining him on it. He glanced at the doctor who was still reading. He didn't notice his detective sitting up. It wasn't until a head fell in his lap that he noticed his detective had stopped talking. He chuckled under his breath and went back to reading. They sat like that for a while, then the doctor's fingers did something he had not expected. They ran through the curls of his detective. It was a slight movement, but one he couldn't take his eyes… well he didn't have any, but he couldn't look away. His detective smiled like he had just accomplished something huge. He hated the doctor. Hated him even more for being able to touch his detective.

One day he heard quick footsteps and they burst into the room laughing. He wanted to laugh too. Instead he watched. The doctor was leaning against the wall next to the door. His eyes watched the ceiling as he gasped in laughter and air. His detective was leaning against the door his back toward the room. He was facing the doctor and those sharp eyes that had memorized him so long ago were taking in the doctor, who was clueless to the expression directed at him. The detective moved forward. The doctor's eyes flicked down. They moved together and he stopped watching. The detective belonged to the doctor now. He watched the clock for sometime. The cold was there to stay now he was sure of it.

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A/N: I had to change this one up a bit. I'm not sure if I like the changes... Part one was set... before the series. This one is during series 1 I guess. As always I want to know what you think. :D R&R


	3. Part 3

Disclaimer: Do not own.

Title: Vocem Mortis

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Part III

His doctor sat in the chair across from him for hours. His doctor. They were all each other had now. The detective was gone. He had left them both. He watched over his doctor because he was sure that's what the detective would have wanted. For hours his doctor sat, staring at nothing. He tried to give him reassuring words, but it was useless. Do not give up my dear doctor. He was shocked to see blue eyes on him. Had he finally heard? He felt the warmth of fingers on him again as he was moved into his doctor's lap. They sat for some time with his doctor's hand resting on him. He gave more reassuring words and the hand slowly got heavier. He watched his doctor's face as sleep finally pulled him under. The dreams were not good. The hand on him tightened painfully every once in a while. He looked to his doctor, silent tears fell as he slept and in that moment he hated the boy, no longer his boy, He hated the detective, no longer his detective. He hated him for causing the sorrow that filled his doctor. The sorrow he worried would consume him.

Weeks passed with his doctor sleeping in the chair with him under his hand. Silent tears fell every night. He was always placed back on his mantel every morning. Everything was always returned to exactly where it had been before the detective left. The lovely lady came every once in a while. She dusted and cleaned up. One day she clicked her tongue over him. She had never liked him, but was always gentle when she stole him away. She finished cleaning before picking him up. He could remember when she avoided even looking at him. They moved down the stairs and he worried about his doctor. He couldn't be left alone. She set him on a table and pulled out a bottle. She wiped him down in silence. He watched as she grew weary. Her eyes watered but she kept cleaning him. "Mrs. Hudson!" He heard his doctor. His voice was too high. Too loud. Too frantic. "What have you done with it?" she wiped him off in silence before carrying him out into the hall. "I was just cleaning it off. It was filthy." His doctor snatched him from her hands. His were trembling and when he was hugged tightly he could feel the rapid heart beat vibrating in his chest. His doctor spoke more but he was reveling in the warmth his doctor was sharing with him, and didn't listen to anything more.

A week or so later, his doctor left for a day. He had worried. It wasn't like him to leave. When he came back words just started flowing from his mouth. His doctor was talking to him! "I miss him." His doctor whimpered at last. He plucked him from the mantel and moved to the couch. He laid out and set him on his chest. He focused on the rise and fall. He watched his doctor's face. It looked odd from this angle. He watched the entire night but no tears escaped his doctor. He felt his hand resting on him and hoped his doctor would keep talking to him. It was helping them both.

They slept on the couch from that day on. Occasionally his doctor would leave him on the couch when he left for the day. He enjoyed those days. It gave him the feeling that his doctor was finally moving on. He glanced around the room and could see the slight changes that were starting to take place. Books were moved into neat piles next to the shelves. Papers were organized and slid into the corner with the books. One day his doctor sat on the floor as he read through some of the loose papers. He was sitting in his lap while his doctor pet him idly. That night his doctor whimpered in his sleep and he was reminded that his doctor was still in pain.

His doctor climbed off the couch and turned toward the mantel. The detective stood in the room with a dark look on his face. A small gasp and the world was tilting. His doctor had fallen, but he was still holding onto him tightly. The detective called for him before moving him back to the couch. He sat on his doctor's chest and glared at the detective. He wasn't angry for himself. He was angry for his doctor, who cried for him every night, who missed the detective every day, who clutched at his hard surface seeking some form of comfort. He glared and he knew the detective noticed. He refused to look at him, when he did a hurt look crossed his face and he looked away. His doctor slowly sat up. He was gripped tightly as the detective started to explain. The words were soft obviously meant to soothe, but he started to tremble and he knew his doctor was shaken. The detective pulled his doctor to him. The trembling stopped.

It took weeks, but he was finally placed back on his mantel. His doctor still held him when the detective was out, he still talked. Sometimes the detective would return and listen to the drained words leaving his doctor. Eventually his anger for the detective faded. His doctor was slowly smiling. His words were full of energy more often than not. The detective was fixing his broken doctor. A coffee cup crashed to the floor and the detective flew forward toward the kitchen. He didn't seem to notice the table before him, for he fell over it and to the ground with a strange noise of shock. His doctor laughed as the detective rolled over with a groan. The detective looked up in awe. His doctor joined him on the floor and the detective smiled. He watched as the detective studied the smile on his doctor's face. It was as if it was the only thing he ever wanted to see again. At that moment he felt a great joy bubble up in him. He knew then that they were his doctor and his detective and always would be.

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A/N: FINISHED. I hope you liked it. Please review. I really want to know what you think. Just a few extra seconds.


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